


Babel

by uran



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uran/pseuds/uran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five languages Erik Lehnsherr speaks and one he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kira_K](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kira_K/gifts).



> A belated-almost-birthday gift to my dear friend, Kira, who only had to wait 4 years for this fic to be born ^^"
> 
> Special thanks to megumi for the beta and the handholding :3 
> 
> I hope I didn't mess up the translated parts, if you find any errors please tell me! :)

Erik Lehnsherr is six years old and crying. His friend, Klaus told him that they can’t play together anymore, ‘cause his mom said he can’t play with Jews. So he is running now, as fast as his legs can carry him, to the only place that can offer him solace.  
The door of the kitchen bounces back from the wall with the force he slams it open.  
“Was ist los, Liebling?” // “What’s wrong, darling?” // asks his mom. With great, hiccuping sobs he retells the story of his humiliation and the betrayal of his friend. At the end of the tale his mother sweeps him in her arms, and says the only words that could ease his pain - as only she can.  
“Alles ist gut, alles ist gut mein Schatz. Mama liebt dich so sehr. //”It’s alright, it’s alright, sweetheart. Mom loves you so much.”//

~

He can hear gunshots in the distance. He is drugged out of his mind – as he’s getting older, Herr Doktor rarely leaves this room without incapacitating Erik’s mind for the fear his precious experiment would attempt to escape otherwise. The two soldiers stationed at the door glance at each other nervously as the unmistakable sounds of a battle close in on their position. One of them leaves his post probably to look for his superior or Schmidt, while the other keeps watching Erik, looking for signs of his consciousness returning. But Erik is nothing if not a good student and he has learned to hide his reactions from his captors a long time ago.

An exceptionally loud crash draws the attention of the soldier just in time to see the door burst open, revealing a stocky man with weird hair and a cigar dangling from his lips - although quite understandably the German soldier’s attention is more drawn to the gun in the other man's hand. Two sharp gunshots later the Nazi's eye can only stare at the stark white ceiling.  
Most of this barely registers for Erik but the gunshots with the sharp sound and the feeling of the quickly hurtling metal somewhat snap him out from his haze. The stranger with the gun is looking at him now, disgust unmistakable on his face as he eyes the straps binding Erik to the table. 

He rushes to Erik’s side and two hard tugs later the leather bindings fall from the table. The strange man is constantly talking but the words don’t make any sense. Erik tries to sit up, finally sensing a way to escape this never ending nightmare. He can see movement from the far side of the room: the other Nazi is returning. The stranger can see the widening of Erik’s eyes, the boy’s hand raising to point at the other side of the room. Apparently it is enough of a warning for the man as he fires his gun at the door without even turning. The dull thud of the body hitting the floor sounds like salvation to Erik’s ears.  
“Thanks,” says the stranger. He can see that Erik doesn't understand a word he says ’tho, so he stops to think. “Danke,” he tries with a heavy accent, accompanied with what he must mean to be a reassuring smile. It looks more like a snarl, but Erik couldn‘t care less. He is finally free.  
So he repeats after his uncanny rescuer the words he just learned: “Thanks,” and smiles back.

~

„Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha‑olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik shel hanuka.” // "Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah lights." //

He tries to forget the words. They hurt too much.

~

The kind of anonymity his prey needs can only be bought with money – and lots of it. Therefore it’s no surprise that many of their tracks lead to Geneva. Bankers, businessmen, politicians - they all fall in front of his rage.  
Erik knows that French is often called the language of love but he has no such use of the admittedly beautiful cadence of sounds. He can remember the first sentence he learnt with absolute clarity: “Vous me direz où ils sont ou je vous tue. “ // “You will tell me where they are or I will kill you.”//

~

Spain, Argentina, Mexico – Nazis seem to love warm weather. Deceit comes easier nowadays, it gives a special kind of satisfaction when he can see the utter surprise on their faces as he drives the cold metal through their heads (never the heart, they can't possibly have one). So he learns the lilting vowels of a new language - it's really not that hard after French - and finds a rare enjoyment in it. Spanish... it sings to him with its passion, its fire. The sound of it, so different from the harshness of German and the precision of English, and there is strength too, not like in French. For the first time in a long while Erik finds something he enjoys learning.  
And when the girl dressed in blacks and reds glides up to him at the bar, her hips swaying to the strong beat of flamenco, turning to him with a bright smile and saying "Con piernas como esas deberías estar en la pista de baile" // "With legs like these you should be out on the dancefloor."//  
He finds himself grinning back, answering easily, “Indique el camino, señorita” //"So lead the way, my lady."//

~

_«You can’t. You’ll drown. You have to let go. I know what this means to you, but you are going to die. Please, Erik, calm your mind.»_

He can’t get the words out of his head. They follow him up to the ship, over the deck, down to the narrow cabin he seems to be sharing with his wannabe rescuer.  
The man - Charles - doesn't use his ability any more as they get aboard the ship, and Erik finds it curious to say the least. Surely it would be easier than shouting above the noise of the engines and it would eliminate the possibility of anyone eavesdropping on them. When he says this much in the privacy of their shared quarters, Charles' face suddenly becomes unreadable. 

“Most people are… weary of letting me communicate with them this way,” he says, eyes never leaving Erik's face. 

“Why? What are your powers exactly? Can you read my mind?”

“Yes, and much more I'm afraid. I can communicate telepathically as you already know and read your surface thoughts without much effort. I can also see your memories and control your mind and your body through that, although that takes a little more effort. You have a very strong will, my friend,” comes the reply with a rueful smile. 

“Show me.”

Charles' face looks… it looks so many things at once Erik doesn't even know where to begin deciphering them. Shock is the most dominant, closely followed by excitement and surprisingly enough, suspicion. The man might read people's' minds, but his face and body make him just as easily read in return. 

“If this is some kind of test, I do not appreciate being tricked,” Charles says with an obviously forced calmness. 

“Oh for crying out loud, can't you tell if I'm lying or not? If you are as powerful as you said at least. Or maybe it was you who was dishonest?” Erik can't resist the jab, a bit of a challenge for someone who could finally be his equal. 

Then suddenly Erik is not in their tiny cabin anymore, hell, he is not even on the ship. It's a few days ago and he is in his hotel room staring at the board with all the information collected about Herr Doktor's movements. Then he is at the docks pursuing the lead about the yacht he just tore half apart. Then it's dark - tonight, his mind supplies - and he is getting ready for his failed assassination attempt, getting out of his clothes to change into his wetsuit when the scene abruptly ends and Erik is back in the cabin, facing a slightly flushed telepath. 

“Apologies, I obviously don't know what will I dig up from a person's memories, especially if I'm not looking for something specific,” Charles mumbles at the carpet. 

Erik can only grin at his bashfulness. “No harm done,” he says as he makes himself comfortable on one of the tiny cots. “So tell me more about yourself. How did you get mixed up with the suits?”

They spend the way back to the shore talking and they just never stop from then. They talk about their plans in the FBI compound, about their lives by the chessboard. On the road across the US they debate politics, history and the fate of humanity. In the mansion they fall in a kind of routine, late nights spent by the fire's light drinking, playing chess or just talking, forever talking either out loud or mind-to-mind. It seems they can't get enough of each other. It's feels natural to fall into bed together after all the time their minds spends joined. 

He will miss the feeling of Charles' mind entwined in his own, truly. But sacrifices have to be made, he muses as he puts on Shaw's helmet. 

The silence is deafening.


End file.
